本の詳細
形式
キンドル
言語
英語
公開されました
Dec 18, 2013
説明
An erotic fantasy romance short story
Drawn to her local museum, Kellie can’t keep away from a certain compelling painting. The oils seem real and the scent of the scene, nearly tangible. When the artist approaches her, his touch sends them into a world of fantasy, of dragons. Their passion ignites and reality blurs. Rand, the intriguing bronc rider, is hers, if only she learns how to keep him.
***
Excerpt:
Kellie jerked her chin down, put on an air of complete absorption, and studied her nice, sensible black snow boots. The buckles were still that shiny silver that had drawn her to buy them. But as much as she loved her new footwear, they held her attention for only seconds. She went back to fighting the blush warming under her silk scarf. She sensed the gorgeous man in his crisp suit had finally looked away, and the woman in front of her at the museum’s membership desk shuffled forward.
She didn’t usually stare, but he’d looked so familiar she’d been mesmerized until his bright blue eyes had ensnared hers. Caught ogling, she wished the bright marble tiled floor could swallow her.
With a concerted effort, she made herself do a casual scan of the lobby. The man was gone. She sighed. Too much to expect she’d manage a flirtatious smile, an inviting look, or a saucy wink.
The membership desk cleared and she approached, forgetting her embarrassment. “I’d like to renew, please.”
Afterwards, she made her way to her favorite gallery and forced herself to start on the left side of the room, circling slowly until she gave in to the anticipation. The murmur of dozens of museum patrons created a surprisingly soothing buzz, like the swell of water pushing her toward her destination.
Placed in an alcove off the far side of the circular room, the painting beckoned. She stepped inside the special display space. The cool white walls cocooned her, focusing her entire being on that painting. The placard beneath read: “Dragon Rodeo in Oil, 2010. Henri Durand. Donated by the artist.”
Expecting it didn’t take away from the sheer impact. The light scent of cedar and ash made her slightly dizzy. Her lips parted and she drew in the stale air of the museum tainted with a burnt flavor she’d only experienced here, in this spot where she stood. She focused on the painting, the oils life-like, the strokes bold and detailed, the scene nearly mobile.
A large dragon of bright black scales reared up, exposing its belly of pale gray. Nearly translucent wings stretched, reached upward, but a man straddling its back pulled hard on a bridle—keeping the dragon in the ring about it. Spectators sat in stands gazing down, drinking from mugs, exchanging gold coins, and playing out small scenes of life: an argument between lovers, a man threatening another with a knife, a father explaining the show to his son, several women blushing and throwing their colored handkerchiefs in the ring.
And amid a troupe of jugglers, a barrel sat just to the side of the wooden fence of the ring. A woman peeked out. A woman with Kellie’s red braid, her brown eyes, her upturned nose, and her birthmark, just behind the ear. She shuddered with the chill that swamped her. Anticipation riding her hard, she finally let herself look at the man.
....
Drawn to her local museum, Kellie can’t keep away from a certain compelling painting. The oils seem real and the scent of the scene, nearly tangible. When the artist approaches her, his touch sends them into a world of fantasy, of dragons. Their passion ignites and reality blurs. Rand, the intriguing bronc rider, is hers, if only she learns how to keep him.
***
Excerpt:
Kellie jerked her chin down, put on an air of complete absorption, and studied her nice, sensible black snow boots. The buckles were still that shiny silver that had drawn her to buy them. But as much as she loved her new footwear, they held her attention for only seconds. She went back to fighting the blush warming under her silk scarf. She sensed the gorgeous man in his crisp suit had finally looked away, and the woman in front of her at the museum’s membership desk shuffled forward.
She didn’t usually stare, but he’d looked so familiar she’d been mesmerized until his bright blue eyes had ensnared hers. Caught ogling, she wished the bright marble tiled floor could swallow her.
With a concerted effort, she made herself do a casual scan of the lobby. The man was gone. She sighed. Too much to expect she’d manage a flirtatious smile, an inviting look, or a saucy wink.
The membership desk cleared and she approached, forgetting her embarrassment. “I’d like to renew, please.”
Afterwards, she made her way to her favorite gallery and forced herself to start on the left side of the room, circling slowly until she gave in to the anticipation. The murmur of dozens of museum patrons created a surprisingly soothing buzz, like the swell of water pushing her toward her destination.
Placed in an alcove off the far side of the circular room, the painting beckoned. She stepped inside the special display space. The cool white walls cocooned her, focusing her entire being on that painting. The placard beneath read: “Dragon Rodeo in Oil, 2010. Henri Durand. Donated by the artist.”
Expecting it didn’t take away from the sheer impact. The light scent of cedar and ash made her slightly dizzy. Her lips parted and she drew in the stale air of the museum tainted with a burnt flavor she’d only experienced here, in this spot where she stood. She focused on the painting, the oils life-like, the strokes bold and detailed, the scene nearly mobile.
A large dragon of bright black scales reared up, exposing its belly of pale gray. Nearly translucent wings stretched, reached upward, but a man straddling its back pulled hard on a bridle—keeping the dragon in the ring about it. Spectators sat in stands gazing down, drinking from mugs, exchanging gold coins, and playing out small scenes of life: an argument between lovers, a man threatening another with a knife, a father explaining the show to his son, several women blushing and throwing their colored handkerchiefs in the ring.
And amid a troupe of jugglers, a barrel sat just to the side of the wooden fence of the ring. A woman peeked out. A woman with Kellie’s red braid, her brown eyes, her upturned nose, and her birthmark, just behind the ear. She shuddered with the chill that swamped her. Anticipation riding her hard, she finally let herself look at the man.
....
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